All along
by Uluru2064
Summary: The celebration of Ginny's 22nd birthday leads Ron to believe he may have been missing something . . .


Tonight, May 26th, was Ginny's 22nd birthday.  
  
It was amazing how quickly time had passed. The last couple of years at Hogwarts were a blur to Ron, but they couldn't hold a candle to how quickly the last three years in the real world had swept by.  
  
The list of milestones was long: the end of the war; Bill's marriage to Fleur; Ron and Harry's acceptance into Auror training; Hermione's decision to practice Healing; and Ginny's career with the Ministry. Oddly, that last item had brought them here tonight.  
  
Ginny was pursuing a degree in Anthropology from a Muggle University in London. The series of events that landed her there was quite remarkable.  
  
At the culmination of the war, when the world was on the brink of certain destruction, the pandemonium that swept the globe affected the Wizarding and Muggle worlds alike. The Minstry was disgraced by its own ineptitude at dealing with the finger-pointing from Muggle world leaders, and the blame for spontaneous mass murders that plagued the Muggle nations. After the war was over, more to save face than to prepare itself for a similar predicament years in the future, the Ministry elected to revamp its position on Muggle Relations. The Ministry had noted Ginny Weasley's exceptional proficiency in Muggle affairs shortly after her graduation from Hogwarts. They brought Ginny on as a junior staff member, and she had worked her way up to Assistant Chair of the Department within three short years. Her contributions to the restructuring and reorganizing of the Department were commended by prestigious wizards far and wide. As a reward for her efforts, and coincidentally furthering their own interests, the Ministry had granted her request for a temporary return to the academic sphere for further training.  
  
So here they were. In the heart of a Muggle University town, sitting in the corner of a Muggle University pub. Gin's favorite pub, to be specific. She had wanted to enjoy her birthday somewhere she, Hermione, Harry and Ron wouldn't be recognized.  
  
Probably a smart decision, thought Ron.  
  
Ginny and Hermione had become relatively high profile in London wizarding circles. Ron totally sympathized with their desire for a little down time. He had developed a small base of fans during his short career as a professional Quidditch player. Because his career-ending injury had resulted in the save that won the World Cup for his team, the Chuddly Cannons, fans still regularly recognized him and strangers often came up to pat him on the back.  
  
And, of course, there was Harry. Even years after his final battle, it wasn't completely unusual for him to be stopped in the street to sign an autograph, or to pose for a picture. Yes, the quartet was better off at an establishment where they wouldn't be recognized.  
  
Perfect place, Ginny, Ron conceded. He hadn't seen a familiar face all night long.  
  
Initially, Ron hadn't been thrilled to hear of their destination. He had never been a tremendous fan of Muggle establishments, they were always too mundane. However, he was slowly getting comfortable with the surroundings, even though the pub was relatively crowded.  
  
He gazed around the booth at his friends.  
  
It has been too long, Ron reflected privately.  
  
He hadn't realized quite how much he had missed Harry and Hermione until tonight. Sure, they had kept in close contact. He and Harry worked together frequently, but it was a rare occasion when either had the energy to hit the pub afterhours. They spoke everyday, but Ron couldn't remember the last time they conversed about the topics they used to spend hours rambling on about, namely girls, Quidditch, and girls.  
  
For more than one reason, Ron thought.  
  
After watching her evolve from the shy, quiet girl she once was into the confident woman she had become, Harry had taken a liking to Ginny. They had dated for several months.  
  
Almost a year, noted Ron, again amazed at how quickly time was sweeping by.  
  
Yes, Harry usually steered clear of the topic of women. And Ron was grateful for it.  
  
His eyes drifted from Harry to Hermione. More amazing than the quick passage of the last three years was all of the wonderful things it had done for Hermione.  
  
Not that it had much to improve, he noted.  
  
She had always been an attractive girl. Her recent successes had boosted her confidence and mellowed her sharp temper, only adding to her beauty. Having decided to move to London with Ginny after she graduated, Hermione had established her healing practice in the city. She had become highly respected in her field, but not without cost. She worked long hours at her clinic and spend much of her free time volunteering for various causes and campaigns. Ron spoke with her weekly by Floo, but somehow it wasn't the same as sitting with her now.  
  
He found her laughter much more infectious in person. He smiled as she laughed at a story Harry was telling involving their most recent run-in with an ancient Dark Wizard who had gone quite senile. Needless to say, the event had escalated into quite a comedy. Harry's storytelling voice, coupled with the laughter of his two favorite girls reminded him of the past. His gaze returned to his drink.  
  
Too long, indeed.  
  
They had reminisced about their school days for hours, while keeping the pub staff very busy. Following a recap of each and every one of their embarrassing moments, each took his or her turn as the butt of several jokes. Per custom, Hermione and Ron bickered about trivialities, but kept the tone friendly. They talked about the familiar faces they had seen around recently, and updated one another on the various scandals of their former classmates. It wasn't until near the end of the night that Ginny announced that the remainder celebration would resume on the dance floor.  
  
Hermione brightened at the suggestion. "I think that is a brilliant idea!"  
  
She slid out of the booth and made to stand. She teetered a little as she stood, apparently feeling the effects of the six drinks she had consumed during the course of the evening.  
  
Part of Ron's hesitancy to visit a Muggle pub was his doubts about the drink selection. Although he certainly preferred firewhiskey, he'd been impressed with taste of Muggle bourbon and had consumed a few. He'd grown to like the taste.  
  
And the effects, he added as both girls erupted in giggles.  
  
Hermione attempted to straighten her sleeveless shirt, and untied a purple satin ribbon adorning her shoulder in the process. Her efforts to focus on her shoulder in order to secure the ribbon were quite entertaining, Ron couldn't help but chuckle.  
  
"Don't you laugh at me, Ron Weasley," she swatted at him sassily before adding, "I'm in completed control of my - er - what word am I looking for? She stared blankly while chewing her bottom lip before continuing, "Well, nevermind." She giggled at herself and successfully retied the ribbon into something resembling a bow.  
  
Hermione extended her hand to Ginny, who accepted Hermione's hand and alighted from her seat. "We'll see you two out there, shortly?" she asked.  
  
"Right behind you," Harry half groaned. The girls proceeded through the crowd of people that had gathered, heading to the dance floor.  
  
"Come on, then," chirped Ron. "This music isn't the greatest, but I reckon we can hold our own out there." He slid out of the booth and stretched to his full height. His head swam a bit, perhaps he shouldn't have laughed at Hermione after all.  
  
"Easy for you to say . . ." mumbled Harry. ". . . you've not relived your most embarrassing moment with the added quips of Hermione and Ginny!"  
  
Ron laughed heartily at Harry's grumbling as he recalled, once again, several of Harry's attempts at dancing in the Great Hall of Hogwarts. While Harry's wizarding abilities may have far surpassed Ron's, Ron took pleasure in his superior skills of finding and keeping with a beat.  
  
Too bad the world isn't plagued by evil metronomes.  
  
Grudgingly, Harry slid from the booth and stretched to his full height next to Ron, who still had several inches on him. They shuffled through the throng of people toward the open space at the center of the pub. The music around them was upbeat and cheery. All of the patrons on and off the dance floor seemed to know the words and sang along with the lyrics.  
  
When Harry and Ron met up with the girls toward the center of the floor, the quartet formed a small circle and began dancing as a group. Apparently the song was quite popular. Ginny and Hermione sang along with the words and bounced to the beat. The quartet continued to dance for several songs. Ron was getting into the music. It alternated between what Ginny and Hermione had identified to him as "happy hour rock" and some other genre he couldn't identify. Either way, the music was pleasing the crowd, particularly Ginny and Hermione, who alternated between giggling and singing along. Again, Ron reflected on how long it had been since he'd had such a good time hanging out with his friends before realizing the music was changing.  
  
Somewhere above the dance floor, the deep rhythm of a heavy baseline began to drown out the last few bars of the previous song. Members of the crowd shouted their approval as the introductory beats of a new song pulsed from the sound system. Ron concluded that it must have been another popular song, but was definitely not the type of music that had been playing before. People were streaming onto the dance floor in pairs, apparently summoned by the first few notes of the song.  
  
Pairs.  
  
He looked to his left to see his younger sister throw her hands around the neck of his best mate. He was hoping to catch Harry's eye, but neither Harry nor Ginny appeared to be aware he was still standing there.  
  
He glanced to his right to see a man and woman weave through the crowd to an open spot on the crowded floor. The man immediately grabbed the woman around the waist and pulled her body tight to his with his left hand, while running his right hand over her backside.  
  
Nice show, he thought flippently. But it wasn't until that moment that he really listened to the song that the crowd had greeted with such enthusiasm.  
  
It was unlike anything he had heard before. The booming of the bass set a medium tempo for the song that was almost equaled the rhythm of . . . .  
  
He listened to the smooth melody drift from the speakers. He took a quick look to his left, and immediately wished he hadn't. His baby sister, all twenty two years of her, was moving her body against his best friend in a way he never wanted to witness. Harry looked quite content. Ron opened his mouth to shout at both of them for being indecent.  
  
Before he could utter a word he felt something skim across his arm. For the first time in thirty seconds, he faced forward. There was Hermione, looking at him quizzically, with a glimmer of mischief in her eyes.  
  
"You know, they play all this so people dance along," she said as she waved her hand in the general direction of the DJ booth. "That's the thing we were doing a few minutes ago," she added wryly as a smirk came across her face.  
  
"Clever," Ron replied. "Actually, I don't think I know how to dance like this. Maybe I'll sit this one out." He moved to turn around and head in the direction of the booth.  
  
Before he could leave the floor, she grabbed his shoulder and brought herself up on her toes so she could speak near his ear. "It isn't exactly dancing abilities that this song requires, is it?"  
  
His mouth nearly fell open. Never had he heard her drop an innuendo, let alone such a scandalous one, so casually. Somewhere in the back of his mind he realized never had a simple sexual comment muttered by a girl caused him to exhale so quickly.  
  
What is this?, he wondered. Usually this is my game.  
  
Since 6th year, he had thrived on embarrassing her by making lewd references. More than once, he had exaggerated his adolescent escapades when relaying them to Harry at a tremendous volume, knowing full well that she could hear him. He had always tried to get under her skin. Typically she responded by chiding him for acting immaturely.  
  
Tonight, she had turned the tables.  
  
He pulled back to look her in the eye, and found the glimmer of mischief he had noticed before shining brightly. Taking a few moments to recover, he didn't say anything. Before he could retort, she pulled herself up to whisper in his ear once more, "Come on then, isn't this supposed to be your area of expertise? Winifred certainly made no secret about your . . . other abilities."  
  
If he hadn't been shocked before, he certainly was now. Not only was she tossing around sexual innuendos, but she was commenting on his . . . bloody abilities! True, his relationship with Winifred Loxfield, a Ravenclaw, had been one of the main subjects of gossip during their 6th and 7th years at school. More than once, he and Winifred had been caught in empty classrooms and broom closets late at night. Remembering it now, he was slightly embarrassed by his own indiscretion, but had long since attributed his behavior to the typical hormones of teenage boys. Sure, he had been teased mercilessly by his friends, his brothers and particularly Harry and Ginny. They had continued to torment him years after he and Winifred had broken up! Yet, Hermione had never, ever broached the subject.  
  
Bringing him back to the present, he felt her pull away from him. He was about to utter a snide comment about her cheap shot, when he looked down at her. Her smirk had grown into a sly smile. Only now did he realize she had thrown down the gauntlet. She was challenging him. She knew bloody well that he had no desire to stay on this dance floor, and she was daring him to leave. He closed his mouth, cheap shot forgotten. He was going to accept her challenge, he would stay on the floor. He smiled inwardly. In a way, he had missed their competitive exchanges too.  
  
He would take her up on her unspoken dare, although he wasn't sure if it had everything to do with her comment about Winifred. He wasn't sure it had everything to do with the simple fact that he took great pleasure in proving her wrong. He wasn't sure it had absolutely nothing to do with wanting to run is hands along the silky material of her shirt.  
  
Wait, what?, he thought to himself.  
  
Before he had a chance to repeat the last sentence of his running inner monologue, the second verse of the song began. It was melodic; the voice of the singer carried over the deep baseline that seemed to control the dancers. The tone of the singer's voice was raw and sensual; the lyrics were hypnotic. He had never heard anything so sexually charged.  
  
He returned his focus to her. She arched her eyebrow at him as a question, but her sly smile remained.  
  
Cheeky, he thought. Time to knock down a notch.  
  
Trying his best to appear indifferent, he reached his hands out and settled them on her hips pulling her closer to him. As he drew her closer, he watched her expression for signs of defeat, but found only a hint of surprise before it was masked by the return of her impish smile. Apparently, she wasn't expecting him to stay. He mentally patted himself on the back for proving her wrong, but acknowledged that the battle was far from over. They'd had this battle a thousand times before.  
  
Although never quite like this, he conceded.  
  
One of them would issue a challenge, whether it involved academics, wizarding chess or simply exploding snap, and the other would always accept. Each was too stubborn to back down from any dare issued by the other. Also, she couldn't stand to be proven wrong, and proving her wrong was one of his most enjoyable diversions. Per tradition, he was sure she would be pulling out all of the stops in order to send him retreating to the booth.  
  
As if on cue, she threw her arms up around his shoulders, bringing them even closer. She began rolling her hips to the beat of the music. He kept his hands planted firmly and mirrored her movements, brushing up against her body.  
  
Bloody hell, he thought.  
  
He felt his control of the situation was slipping a bit. He was doing his best to appear confident and return her mischievous smile. At the conclusion of the second verse, she ground her body against his.  
  
He felt something ignite inside of his belly, the resulting heat coursed through his veins. He prayed to that the shock her movement caused him internally wasn't readily apparent, he wasn't going to let her win.  
  
Playing dirty he noted. No matter.  
  
In response, he mirrored her movements for a few bars, coming forward to meet her body when she pressed it against his. He locked his gaze with hers while willing himself to stand his ground. Her eyes still sparkled with mischief, but they clouded with something he didn't recognize. During the heart of the third verse, he saw his opportunity to rattle her confidence and leave no question as to his 'abilities.'  
  
He pulled her upper body so close to him with his right hand that her chest pressed into his. Moving with the drive of the bass, he trailed his left hand along the side of her body and down to her thigh. He kneaded her thigh with his fingers before slowly trailing his open palm back up her body once more. His caress stopped at her backside which he used to urge her body tightly against him, pressing in possessively with his fingertips.  
  
He'd struck a cord. He heard her gasp softly upon meeting his body.  
  
Victory, he shouted inwardly.  
  
He pulled his head back to take a look at her, leaving his strong arm around her back and his left hand covering her backside. She was still moving to the beat of the music as sensually as before, but he found her eyes lacked the mischief that had triggered his caress. Instead, her eyes were cloudy. Her eyelids looked heavy.  
  
Upon locking her gaze, he noticed her eyes had turned. They met his and he could put only one name what he saw registered in her eyes. Defiance. He could read her thoughts clearly. It was as if her eyes were telling him she was not planning on backing down now.  
  
She backed out of his tight grip to stare up at him, continuing to sway her hips to the song. As the rhythmic lyrics of the chorus wafted across the crowd, she turned her back on him. She raised her arms above her head, pulling her hair up to expose her neck, and rolled her body in a way that took his breath.  
  
Who is this girl?, he wondered. Woman, he corrected sharply, no girl knows how to move like this.  
  
She had backed up against him. She continued to roll her body against his chest, against his belly, against his . . . .  
  
At that moment he realized his control was gone. In fact, he was willing to admit he might never have had control of the situation in the first place. Her eyes, her sly smile, the feeling of her bare skin, the feeling of her grinding her body against his - it was too much. Heat was coursing through his veins. As he looked down at the exposed skin of her shoulders and neck, he felt himself stiffen. His body had forgotten it was his childhood best friend dancing with him a long time ago, his mind was quickly following suit.  
  
He'd never seen this woman before, with her deep chocolate eyes and soft skin. He had never seen this woman, whose body was wreaking havoc on his senses.  
  
He brought his left hand to her hip and pulled her closer against him. He brought the open palm of his right hand to rest on her stomach. He felt her body heat radiate through the silky fabric of her shirt.  
  
His thoughts were far past the challenge he accepted minutes ago. His movements were no longer controlled by a lust for victory, but lust for something entirely different. The movements of his body were subconscious, driven solely by carnal instincts.  
  
The song was reaching a crescendo, the voice of the singer grew fervent. Hermione looked over her right shoulder, continuing to writhe against him, searching for his eyes. When he met them, the clear message of defiance had vanished. Her expression was . . . like nothing he'd ever seen. Her lids were heavy, and her eyes were cloudy again. Her lips were parted and her cheeks were flushed. Minutes ago, he would have considered this a strategically brilliant victory. But as she continued to look up at him with such indescribable expression, all thoughts of speaking and ruining the silence retreated from his mind. There was only one emotion that filled him . . . .  
  
She was moving against him as if she was . . . .  
  
His body was responding to the roll of her hips just as if. . . .  
  
Without realizing, he had pulled her tighter against his body. She lowered her hands from above her head and placed them on top of his. She leaned her head back to rest against his chest, as she continued moving against him. He lowered his head close to her shoulder, the soft citrusy smell of her bare skin overwhelming him.  
  
The song began to fade, as a tempo of a more upbeat song became recognizable. As the noise around them picked up, she tilted her head up to look into his eyes. He returned her cloudy gaze.  
  
Without realizing it, he had inched his face closer to hers. Her stare focused on his parted lips as their faces drew nearer. He watched as the tip of her tongue ran discreetly across the inside of her upper lip. . . .  
  
"LAST CALL!" boomed from loud speaker somewhere above the floor, bringing Ron back to the dance floor and the surrounding crowd.  
  
He looked up toward the source of the voice overhead. As reality struck him, he experienced the rush of two very conflicting feelings.  
  
Two simple words had saved him from crossing the thin line he had been walking between friendship and . . . something else. Two simple words had squelched the flames her movements had sparked in his belly by dragging him back to a world where other people existed.  
  
Yet, those same simple words had interrupted the single most erotic event of his life.  
  
He looked around to see some of the couples disengaging and retreating from the floor to the bar, while others resumed what Ron, until a short while ago, had considered dancing.  
  
How little I knew, he thought, as the upbeat tempo inspired a particularly intoxicated group of people to caterwaul along with the first verse.  
  
He refocused on Hermione, who had also turned her attention on the crowd. She had lowered her hands from his. He couldn't force himself to remove his from her body.  
  
"Anyone need anything?" said Harry, as if appearing out of nowhere.  
  
Where'd he come from?, wondered Ron irritably.  
  
It was as if he had become oblivious to everything else. He reluctantly removed his hands from Hermione.  
  
"One for me," breathed Hermione, in a quiet voice that sounded far huskier than her usual tone.  
  
She wasn't meeting Harry's eyes. Harry looked quizzically at Ron, who apparently hadn't responding in an appropriate amount of time. Harry turned to leave, but Ron stepped after him to get his attention. He was a few away from Hermione before he caught Harry's eye and signaled that he also wanted another drink.  
  
Or twelve, he thought.  
  
Order confirmed, he turned back to the dance floor to assess the damage the last few minutes may have caused. He drew up short after taking only two steps. In the 45 seconds he'd spent to catch up to Harry, another patron had approached Hermione. The patron was tall, well dressed and certainly male. She was smiling, but had crossed her arms around her front.  
  
Read the signals, idiot, he thought, while praying he was interpreting her body language correctly and that she did, in fact, want her new friend to hit the road.  
  
Still, the presence of the Idiot was triggering a possessive impulse that Ron hadn't felt since forth year. Ron advanced toward them and caught the Idiot's last few words.  
  
" . . . really attractive, with great taste in clothes, would you join me at the bar so I can buy you a drink?"  
  
Hermione hesitated, probably trying to come up with something polite, as Ron joined the conversation throwing an arm around Hermione's shoulders, chummily.  
  
"I'm Ron." he held out his hand to the Idiot.  
  
"Er . . . hi. I'm, er, Conor." The Idiot shook Ron's hand, although suddenly looked uncomfortable.  
  
"Harry should be back from the bar shortly, he's grabbing your drink," Ron stated informationally. Although his comment was directed toward Hermione, his eyes remained on the Idiot.  
  
They stood in an awkward silence before the Idiot stammered, "Well, it was nice to meet you, Amy, Er, and you too, Don. I'm going to catch up with my mates at the bar." And with that, he scurried away.  
  
Ron didn't realize until then that the Idiot was the only thing preventing he and Hermione from the first conversation following their . . . dance. Inwardly, he cursed himself for sending him packing.  
  
Ron looked down at Hermione, sure to find her scowling at him for playing big brother. Or, alternatively, to find an uncertain expression stemming from the passionate moments they had shared only moments ago. Instead of either of these dreaded expressions, he found her eyes sparkling with humor and lips locked together as if to suppress a giggle. Her expression made him laugh at loud.  
  
"Not so interested in Conor, are you Amy?" he chuckled.  
  
"No. Thank Merlin you came up when you did. In the few seconds we shared together, he filled me in on his annual earnings, his newly acquired expensive convertible and the designer he buys all of his pants from, specially tailored of course. I think he was accessory shopping, rather than trying to pick me up."  
  
"Well, that's quite a story, isn't it?" He smiled and continued, "Perhaps, I'll go grab him so he can tell us more. My personal designer has fallen off a bit, my pants no longer match the interior of my flashy car. Perhaps he could refer me to his."  
  
When Ron made a move toward the bar, Hermione shrieked with laughter and grabbed him around the waist.  
  
Ron returned, "Ok, then. If you're sure you're don't want me to. No sympathy from you, as usual."  
  
The sound of her laughter filled his ears. He faced her and pulled her arms from his waist and settled them around his shoulders. He wrapped his hands around her waist and hugged her tightly. The embrace was platonic. Nothing like what had happened only moments before.  
  
They swayed to the cheery sounding bar song, falling easily into their comfortably sarcastic conversation. She recommended a few designers, as he played along by pretending to consider her suggestions or snubbing his nose. Inwardly, he thanked the Idiot for relieving any awkwardness. She rested her head on his chest, still giggling.  
  
Without the distraction of conversation, his thoughts drifted back a few minutes. The way she was moving . . . so like she was . . . he didn't want to think about it.  
  
Rather, he couldn't think about it without his body responding.  
  
He was ready to write off the whole thing as meaningless. She had challenged him, he had stood his ground. In the process, they had just gotten a little carried away.  
  
Was she feeling the same thing I was?, he wondered.  
  
Although remembering the look in her eyes, he's not sure either had won the mutual dare. He couldn't help but wonder what emotion he was seeing in her deep brown eyes. Was it . . . His head lowered to rest above her shoulder. He slowed their swaying until they were still. Hermione looked up at him, questioningly. He looked at her lips, briefly, before seeking her eyes. He locked gazes with her. Her eyes were wide and he was immediately lost in their depths. It was seconds before he spoke.  
  
"Hermione?," he asked in a low, soft voice.  
  
Her lips parted, she alternated between meeting his eyes and looking at his lips. At that moment, she looked so beautiful, he was willing to risk months of awkward exchanges just to taste her. He lowered his head.  
  
"Here we are, then," chimed Harry. Neither had heard him approach with his hands full of drinks. Fortunately, he was too distracted by the eight glasses he had balanced in his hands rather haphazardly to notice the intimate moment he had just stumbled upon.  
  
Hermione and Ron sprang apart. Hermione immediately reached out to assist Harry before he lost several pounds worth of liquor to the dirty floor of the bar. Ron stood straight, willing his ears not to redden.  
  
Without looking at one another, Ron and Hermione followed Harry from the dance floor and returned to the booth in the corner of the bar, where Ginny was waiting. Ginny slid further in, allowing room for the rest of the group to sit down. Harry slid in across from Ginny. Hermione sat down next to Harry while Ron slid in next to his sister. Harry unloaded the respectfully requested drinks upon each of his friends before speaking.  
  
"How about a toast, in honor of the birthday girl?" Harry passed out the remaining shots glasses to each of them.  
  
Ginny blushed prettily as Harry raised his glass and continued, "To Gin, the one I've been waiting for forever, and who was with me all along. Happy Birthday, Love!"  
  
The quartet raised their glasses and toasted Ginny. As his glass reached his lips, Ron dared a look across the table.  
  
Hermione was looking back at him, her eyes burning. The air between them seemed to crackle with the intensity of their shared gaze. Then, quickly, the glimmer of mischief reappeared in her eyes as she arched her eyebrow.  
  
Another challenge, he chuckled inwardly.  
  
He broke his gaze to toss back the shot before she had the chance to beat him to it.  
  



End file.
